Family
by paperclip150
Summary: A Brooklyn nine-nine fanfic that (mostly) doesn't involve massive amounts of Jake and Amy tension. Centered around the detective that replaced Peralta while he was undercover after season 1.
1. Chapter 1

I've worked for a lot of precincts. Most times, I'm in and out, never really gaining ties, solving what I can in the time I'm given and then moving on. The truth? It sucks. Hard. I'd joined the NYPD hoping that I'd be able to find people that I could trust and who would trust me, people that could replace a family that had moved on from me a long time ago. Which gets kind of hard when you're never with the same people for more than a year. I tried when I first started, after awhile though I started asking myself "what's really the point in building a relationship with coworkers you're not going to talk to ever again?" To many I seem cold, callous, which is mostly my fault. I do it to keep them distant, so when I leave it's easier. Not easy, but easier. This is why, when I first stepped into precinct 99, I didn't nod hello, I didn't introduce myself, I simply walked up to the CO's door, knocked and then entered.

"Captain Holt?"

He looked up from the sheave of reports that he had been poring over, his face completely emotionless, "Detective Dentoro, I presume?"

As I nodded he stood up and outstretched his hand. A handshake later (up, down, release) and I was motioned to be seated in front of his desk. He removed his glasses and simply said,

"You will be covering former detective Peralta's cases and you will partner with detective Santiago. She will be responsible for showing you around. Dismissed."

And that was it for introductions. I simply nodded, stood up and walked out the door…...right into a loose semicircle of the other detectives. Pulling up short, I gazed coolly at them from behind the mirrored sunglasses that I'd replaced after my meeting with Holt, taking them in. I know the sunglasses make me seem like a douche (I kind of am sometimes), but people not knowing where you're looking could be quite the advantage. Immediately though, my gaze was drawn to a mountainous black man in the middle of the group, who was easily 6'3" and 250 pounds of pure muscle, which was contrasting starkly with the warm smile he had on his face. Next to him was a significantly smaller male that looked like he was about to jump out of his skin in excitement. For some reason, he was wearing an apron that had what looked like cupcakes on it. I chose to ignore him for the moment and let my gaze move on to the two women situated to the left of the men. The first was Latino and, if looks could kill, holy shit. She looked like she wanted to kneecap me just for breathing the same air as her. She looked about 5'7 and had the body and physique of a gymnast, or maybe a ballerina. I filed her away as someone to keep tabs on. The other woman standing was really nothing to get excited about. She was shorter than the first, but not by much, and she was wearing the classic power pant suit of a serial people pleaser and had her hair pulled into a tight pony tail. I wasn't sure which of the two of them was Santiago, and I really wasn't looking forward to finding that out.

Of course, the observations you just read about only really took a second or two per person, so just as the silence was about to get awkward, I stepped forward and simply stated:

"Detective Santiago." To which the detective with the ponytail stepped forward. _Great,_ I thought, _I'm stuck with the goody-two shoes._

"May I please speak with you in the evidence lock up?" Before getting a reply, I turned on my heel and walked towards the room that was almost ninety percent of the time the evidence room. I'd been to enough precincts that I knew they all had the same general layout. I reached the door and waited for her. When she arrived, she punched in the code on the second try and we walked inside. I turned to her and started reciting to her the exact same speech I'd given to every partner I'd had since my sixth move.

"I work by myself. It's nothing to do with you, but I work better alone. If you need me to assist in an arrest or secondary on a case, then I'll be happy to help. But other than that, I plan on keeping my head down, getting my work done and maintaining as few interactions as possible."

And with that, I let myself out of the evidence room and walked towards the bull pen, already sensing that my normal "leave me alone, I'm only really standing you" attitude more than likely wouldn't work during the time I spent at Precinct 99.


	2. Chapter 2

Two days. Two day was all I got before the small man introduced himself to me as "Charles Boyle…..do you like Samarian food?" This, admittedly, took me aback for a second, but I recovered quickly and resumed typing up the arrest report I was working on. After 30 seconds of working in silence, I finally relented and answered with a curt negative.

"Have you ever tried it?" he asked. Again, I responded with a no.

"Leave him alone Charles." This was from detective Santiago, who was working at the desk in front of me. I decided it would be in my best interest to simply resume working and ignore both of them. Doing this, I'd finished my report and handed it off the Holt's secretary, who I'd learned name was Gina, within the hour. This left me in the unfortunate predicament of no longer having any open cases to pursue, so I decided to set about cleaning the desk I was now assigned to. Apparently, the previous owner had a complete lack of regard to basic human hygiene and so there was food and garbage in every conceivable nook of the desk.

I walked over to the kitchen and grabbed the garbage can and a couple extra bags. I then began the arduous process of going through every drawer on the desk, removing food scraps and wrappers, all the while ensuring that I didn't discard any thing that could be of importance. I can probably tell you that reading about this was just as boring as doing it, if not quite as disgusting. That is, until I came across a piece of paper nestled in the back of one of the drawers. Normally, I would have ignored it and moved on, but this one was different than the others. While all the other papers in the desk were crumpled or ripped to some extent, this one had been folded and placed carefully, as if to avoid it being marred. I pulled it out and unfolded it. It was a letter. To Amy. Looking at the first few lines of the letter, I quickly realized it contained way too many feelings for my liking, but a question remained in my mind. Who the hell was Amy? Eventually, my curiosity getting the better of me and I turned to detective Santiago, "Who's Amy?"

She looked up sharply, eyes narrowed slightly, "Why?" she asked suspiciously.

"I found this and it's addressed to an Amy, no last name"

"I'm Amy" she replied.

I took another look at the letter. _Shit_ , I said to myself, _this is going to end badly_. I nodded and then started refolding the letter, meaning to replace it in the drawer where I'd found it, when a hand with bright orange painted nails reached over my head and snatched it from my grasp. I growled low in my throat and stood abruptly, turning towards Gina who was currently dancing with the letter in her hand. She eventually stopped dancing and started to open the letter slowly

"Let us see what Jakey-Poo has left you Amy" she said in an irritatingly singsong voice.

At this point I decide that I'm showing too much interest in what is happening and so decide to return to cleaning out the desk.

After a further, very loud, hour of cleaning, the desk is in some semblance of order and Sgt. Jeffords has come over and told me that he wants Santiago and I on the scene of a B&E that was just called in. I nod and Santiago and I leave for the scene, without a word between us.

 **3 Hours Later**

The B&E had been almost open and shut. There had been a brief chase on foot with the perp, but Santiago managed to clothesline him before he got too far. We had caught him in position of a few of the items stolen and he'd already told us where the rest was, so there was very little in terms of paperwork that needed to be done. I just wanted to get it finished so I could go home and read until I couldn't see straight, likely finally falling asleep with the book still in my hand.

Charles, it seemed, had other plans.

"We're going for drinks tonight; do you want to come?"

Again, I opted to ignore him, knowing that responding would only encourage more chatter.

"Does it look like he wants to come drinking with us Charles?" The voice was that of detective Diaz, who looked thoroughly irritated at having been disturbed from the case files she had in front of her. Detective Santiago was the next to speak, with a coldness to her voice that had not been there before this morning's letter fiasco: "He obviously wants to spend the rest of his career doing his best to ignore us so that, when he leaves, and he will, we won't care and so therefore he won't either."

It was at this that I levelled my gaze at her, hoping that she wouldn't be able to see how close she was to being right. I needed to put an end to this, they were getting to annoyingly close to figuring it out and I knew I'd break if they kept it up (I'm a shitty cop, I know). So, I decided to do something that would almost definitely make them avoid me.

"I try to ignore you, but its quite hard when you all insist in being so immensely irritating." Keeping my gaze on Santiago, I continued "If this is normal behaviour for this precinct, I can see why the last one left." The mood in the room immediately shifted; taking on a chill that I hadn't quite expected from that statement. Charles silently walked back to his desk and sat down, not actually doing any work. I hear a loud snap from across the room and look over to see that detective Diaz has broken one of the arm off her chair and is gripping it with white knuckles, her face set in fury. What really affected me the most was the face of Santiago though. I had been expecting sadness, and even anger as a reaction to what I'd said, but what a saw in her eyes was neither. It looked like what I'd said had hurt her more than I'd ever really intended. She finally looked away, excusing herself to the washroom. I resumed working, telling myself I'd done what I'd needed to do, but I couldn't shake the feeling that, this time, I'd made a terrible mistake. Two hours later, I finished my report, handed it to Holt and requested a transfer.


End file.
